


The Crooked Kind

by shoelaces



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Anxiety, Because VFD is a messed up cult and I need people to know, Brainwashing, Brief references to suicide/self harm, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kidnapping, most of vfd are mentioned or appear briefly but i'm not tagging bc it's like one mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoelaces/pseuds/shoelaces
Summary: They're four years old when they're taken.VFD, through the eyes of Frank Denouement. A study of brothers, betrayal, and the Last Safe Place.





	The Crooked Kind

They’re four years old when they’re taken. Frank is drawing a picture of a building, labelling in his shaky writing what each floor is going to be. Dewey is in the library, standing on his tiptoes to try and reach a book. Frank can hear him shuffling about and making noises. Ernest is at the window with a telescope.

 

Frank doesn’t notice the creaking of the door, even though he’s an extremely observant four year old, and turning five tomorrow. He’s too absorbed in his picture, which he’s decided is going to be a hotel. It’s only when he hears Dewey cry out in the next room that his interest is torn away, terror running through his veins.

 

Ernest looks up too, his wide eyes and mouth in a little ‘o’ surely an exact mirror of Frank’s expression.

 

There’s a clatter in the library, and they both spring into action when Dewey shouts again. Frank runs into the library, Ernest right behind him, still clutching his picture in his small hand. They might be the same age, but Dewey is the youngest of them, and he cries more than either of his brothers. Ernest only cries when he’s scared or really angry. Frank never cries. He’s been a quiet, serious child as long as he remembers.

 

It takes Frank a moment to fumble with the handle on the door, especially because his hands are shaking, but when he gets the door open, he sees a tall man holding Dewey on his hip. Dewey’s eyes are huge and shining with tears, and Frank is immediately furious. 

 

“Put him down!” Frank squeaks, planting his feet on the carpet and glaring at him. “Leave him alone!”

 

“You’re the other two brothers,” says the man, his face a careful mask. Frank hates when he can’t tell what someone’s thinking, which is more often than not. “You have to be quiet, okay?”

 

Ernest screams immediately, and the man nearly drops Dewey trying to shush him. Their house is too big, too well-made for that scream to be heard. Their parents are on the other side of the building, putting up decorations for their birthday.

 

“Get out of our house!” Ernest shouts, voice shaking. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

 

“Yes, I am,” the man says. Frank tries to commit his face to memory so he can tell his parents later. “You three are very clever, aren’t you?”

 

“We are,” Ernest says, and folds his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t mess with us.”

 

The man moves closer to them, and Frank instinctively steps in front of Ernest. He’s the oldest triplet, and it’s his job to look after his brothers.

 

“I’m not here to hurt you, Denouements.” 

 

“You hurt me,” Dewey says, breaking his frightened silence. “When you picked me up, you scratched my arm.”

 

Ernest pushes past Frank and tries to hit the man, who deftly side-steps. “I’m sorry, child,” Dewey’s captor says. “It wasn’t my intention. You three have to come with me now.”

 

“We’re not allowed out at night,” Dewey protests. “Our parents will be upset! And tomorrow is our birthday!”

 

“You won’t be here tomorrow,” the man says. “You’re going to come with us so we can train you.”

 

Frank wants to run for help, but he doesn’t think he can be fast enough and he’s not leaving Dewey with this man. If he and Ernest leave, this man can run away with Dewey and they might never see him again. He shoves his hotel drawing into the pocket of his dressing gown and glares.

 

“We don’t want to be trained,” Ernest whispers. “We want to stay here.”

 

“You don’t have a choice. Our organisation needs you three. We can explain on the drive.”

 

“We’re only four,” Frank tells him desperately. Ernest whimpers, and Frank takes his trembling hand in his own and squeezes.

 

“Training starts early,” the man says, and then suddenly he’s got Frank’s hand in his big one and he’s pulling him along, Dewey still on his hip. Ernest is holding his other hand, and there’s no way he’ll let go and leave his brothers.

 

They’re taken out through a door in the library that Frank didn’t know about, but Dewey doesn’t seem too surprised by, despite his terrified expression. Frank desperately wants to comfort him, wants him out of that man’s arms.

 

There’s a taxi outside, and Frank can see the silhouette of a woman in the driving seat. The man opens the back door and places Dewey inside. Dewey scrambles for a moment, then seems to give up. 

 

There’s no way out of this. They’re going with that man.

 

Frank climbs in next to Dewey, helping Ernest, who is shaking so badly he can barely get in. He doesn’t let go of Ernest’s hand, but he takes Dewey’s as well, and they sit there in a line as the man gets into the front passenger seat and the woman starts the car.

_ Be strong for them _ , Frank tells himself.  _ They need you.  _

 

Dewey is crying very quietly. Frank wants to cry too, but he swallows back the pain because he knows how Dewey looks up to him. If he cries, he’ll terrify him.

 

“Would you three like something to drink?” The woman asks, and her voice is very kind and soft. Frank thinks that maybe she’s a nice lady, and she’s going to help them or at least make it not so bad. “There’s some water in the basket under your seats. We’ll get you something nicer when we get to the mountains, okay?”

 

Ernest reaches down and pulls out the basket. He struggles with the catch for a moment with his shaking hands, then takes out a water bottle, handing it to Dewey first. The top is already unscrewed, so Dewey takes a few sips and then passes it along. Frank does the same, then Ernest.

 

It’s only a few moments before Frank realises the mistake he’s made. He’s starting to feel exhausted, and his limbs are heavy. A quick glance either side shows that his brothers are feeling the same. He wonders if they put something like his mother’s sleeping pills in his water as the world goes dark around him and he holds on tight to Ernest and Dewey.

 

\-----

 

A week later, Frank is sat on his bed and trying desperately to understand what he’s supposed to be reading. He knows he’s bright for his age, but this VFD document is so hard to read, both in terms of the tiny text and the impossible words. And he’s by himself. He always works better with his brothers, but Dewey has been taken to another room for something and Ernest is being made to talk to one of their chaperones because he had ripped up his assignment. He still feels uncomfortable when they’re out of the room too long in this place.

 

He’s trying his best, but when Dewey limps back in with tears streaking his face, he forgets about it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

 

“They gave me a tattoo,” Dewey sobs. “Like the one they all have. On my ankle!”

 

Frank jumps off the bed and wraps his arms around Dewey in a tight hug, feeling his brother’s face damp with tears, buried in his chest. “Does it hurt?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“We can share my chocolate,” Frank tells him, leading Dewey to sit on his bed with him. “Can- can I see it?”

 

Dewey nods, sniffling, and pulls up the leg of his trousers. There’s a clear bandage over it, but Frank can see the black drawing of an eye, and the skin looks red and painful.

 

“I think you and Ern will get them too,” Dewey says quietly. “I think everyone has them.”

 

“Ernest won’t like that,” Frank says, giving Dewey a smile and a nudge. “That’s not happening without a real fight.”

 

“He keeps getting in trouble,” Dewey whispers. “I’m scared they’ll hurt him.”

 

“They won’t. They need us, right? They said that in the car.”

 

“Okay.” Dewey says, his eyes fixed on the blanket.

 

They sit together for a while, Frank’s reading forgotten as they eat chocolate and talk. About the headquarters, and their chaperone’s funny hair, and the other kids they’ve met briefly. Some of them are nice, they decide. They can be friends with them in the future. Others are probably best avoided. The one topic they avoid is home. Frank isn’t sure what’s happened exactly, but he’s quite certain that they can’t ever go back there. These mountains will never be home, but they are where they live now.

 

Just as their room is starting to get dark around them, Ernest stomps in and flops onto his bed, limbs askew. He’s not crying, but his face is pink with anger and his fists are clenched.

 

“They keep saying I’m bad, and I’m not bad!” Ernest insists, speaking into his pillow. “They’re the bad ones! They stole us!”

 

“But they’re nice,” Frank says. “They’re always nice to us.”

 

“I don’t like it here,” Ernest snaps, turning his head away.

 

“They did give me the tattoo,” Dewey concedes. “I didn’t want the tattoo.”

 

Frank really doesn’t want to believe that VFD is pure evil, and he can tell Dewey doesn’t either. They’re all scared, all ripped away from everything they know, and Ernest wants someone to blame. Frank just wants to believe it’ll be okay.

 

“I want our parents,” Ernest says. “Father was teaching me about space.”

 

“There’s lots on space in the library here,” Frank says. “You can teach yourself.”

 

“It’s not the same.” Ernest replies, his voice flat. “We have nothing from home here. Nothing.”

 

Frank suddenly remembers his drawing, crumpled in the bottom of his dressing gown, which is crumpled at the bottom of his bed. He shuffles down the bed to grab it and takes it out, unfolding it.

 

“That’s Mother’s paper!” Dewey’s eyes brighten as he looks at it. “From her fancy sketchbook.”

 

“She let me have some,” Frank tells him, happy to see Dewey smiling. “I was drawing this right before…”

 

It’s hard to finish, but he doesn’t have to, because Ernest has become curious and left his bed to come and look as well. 

 

“It’s really good,” Ernest tells him, touching the paper a little curiously. “Is it a house?”

 

“I was thinking a hotel,” Frank tells them, and they both watch with interest. “A really big, grand one. And different parts could have different themes.”

 

“Hotel Frank?” Dewey asks. “Frank’s Hotel?”

 

“Hotel Denouement,” Frank says decisively. “So it’s like...all of us.”

 

“I like that,” Dewey says, and Ernest finally starts smiling properly for the first time since they were taken. It makes Frank feel warm and content, just for a few moments. “What do you mean about themes?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Frank admits. “I just think you could organise it so that similar guests are together, and they’re near interesting stuff.”

 

“Like a library,” Dewey says, deep in thought.

 

“Yeah,” Frank says, and Ernest puts his head on Dewey’s shoulder and looks up at him, smiling. “Like a library.”

 

\-------------------

 

When they’re eight years old- a little older, a little wiser- their chaperone tells them their parents are dead. Not that they’ve just died, but that they’ve been dead more than three years. Their house had burnt down the same night Frank and his brothers had been taken away.

 

The moment after they break the news seems to stretch on forever. Frank feels very dizzy and zoned out, enough that he briefly wonders if he’s been drugged again. He’s distantly aware of Dewey rubbing his back, something he seems to have picked up lately as Frank gets more and more anxious. He’s good at comforting.

Ernest, on the other hand, is screaming at their chaperone. “Why didn’t you tell us?!” he says, and his voice keeps cracking. “Why would you keep that secret?” He gets angry a lot now. He’s a lot more emotional than Frank, and in a different way to Dewey. Dewey tends to curl in on himself when he’s upset. He’ll hide and cry, or come and find his brothers. Ernest is a source of constant trouble. He hates his assignments, shouts at their teachers, disappears for hours to search for a way out into the cold snowy landscape. Frank knows he would never leave without him and Dewey, but he’s frightened that they’re going to take his brother away from him.

 

He pushes back the strange, buzzy feeling in his head and focuses on Ernest. He’s the oldest brother, and his parents are dead, so he has to handle this now. “Ernest,” he says, and his voice sounds very hoarse. He realises there are tears streaking down his face, and wonders why he didn’t notice them before. “Ern, you have to calm down.”

 

“No!” Ernest shouts. “Our parents are  _ dead _ !”

 

“I know,” Frank whispers. “I know. But we have to- we have to do our work. And train.”

 

“I don’t want to train! I don’t like it here!” 

 

“You will in the end, Ernest,” says their chaperone. “Eventually, everyone comes to realise that VFD does good.”

 

“I don’t care,” Ernest hisses. “I never asked for this.”

 

“I’ll see you all in class tomorrow,” the man says coolly, and nods towards the door.

 

Ernest gets up and storms out without a word. Dewey looks torn for a second, clearly wanting to follow him, but he seems to choose to follow Frank’s lead. Frank recites the codes with a shaking voice, suddenly unable to focus on his chaperone or his brother. He can only stare at the wall. Dewey repeats his words, then they trail out into the hall.

 

Ernest is nowhere to be seen. Frank is about to go looking for him when Dewey suddenly turns and throws up down his front. His face is very pale, and he looks utterly miserable, but Frank suspects this is a shock reaction rather than illness.

 

“Oh dear,” he says, trying to sound normal. “Come on, Dew, let’s get back to our room and clean you up.”

 

Dewey wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “I want our parents.”

 

He hasn’t said this since the day after they were taken. They’ve talked about them a lot, but Dewey has never seemed so helpless. Frank isn’t the best with feelings. He can’t quite seem to be as reassuring as people need him to be.

Nevertheless, he does his best. “I know. Me too.”

 

“I can’t believe they’re dead,” he chokes. “It’s not fair.”

 

“VFD knows best,” Frank tells him, almost without thinking at all. This statement is drilled into his head so much that he’s quite sure it must be true. “We’re okay here.”

 

“Ernest doesn’t think that,” Dewey points out. “He’s really sad.”

 

“Our parents would know what to do,” Frank says, sighing a little. “We have each other though. So we have our family.”

 

Dewey doesn’t reply, so Frank just puts a hand on his back and leads him back to their room, still feeling like he’s not quite there. Nothing seems real these days.

 

Ernest is in their room, sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chin and his eyes red. He doesn’t say anything as Frank and Dewey come in, and Frank suspects he’s angry with them for not being angry at VFD.

 

He’s not too angry to crawl into Frank’s bed in the middle of the night, but they never mention that again after morning breaks.

 

\-------------------

 

When they’re 15, Ernest starts acting a little oddly. He’s always been the dissenting voice out of the three of them, and they’re rather used to hearing him argue with their teachers or bin assignments as soon as they’re handed to him, but recently, he has become silent.

 

Frank only briefly mistakes his quiet, subdued attitude as his brother maturing and accepting the ways of VFD as their chaperone had often predicted he would. It quickly becomes apparent that Ernest is still throwing work away and disappearing unsupervised in the middle of the night, which is a distressing and relatively new development. Dewey worries himself sick when he vanishes in the night, and Frank wishes he could be angry at Ernest for this, but he’s too worried himself.

 

On top of this, Ernest seems to be withdrawing from his friends as well. Despite his insolence, he’s a genuinely friendly and likeable person and has a good relationship with pretty much everyone. Lately, he’s been sitting at the back of the classroom with his head in his arms on the desk, not even bothering to mess with the teacher or talk to Bertrand or Jacques. He moves to sit by himself instead of with Larry, who is one of the nicest and least confrontational people Frank has ever met, and swears up and down he doesn’t know why Ernest might be mad at him. 

 

Frank may disapprove of his brother’s general behaviour and refusal to accept their circumstances, but there is no one in the world (other than Dewey, of course) who he loves as much. Ernest is his brother and he means the world to him, even more than VFD, which seems to become increasingly important in his life every day. He’s not sure he could ever cut ties with VFD, but the idea of losing Ernest is so terrifying he can’t even entertain the thought. A lot of things are too scary to think about now, and Frank sometimes has to shut his eyes and take a deep breath so the walls stop caving in.

 

This is why he is determined to figure out what’s going on with Ernest.

 

“Do you think he’s depressed?” Dewey asks one day. He’s sitting on his bed, repairing an old book from the library and taking notes from it at the same time. Frank is drawing buildings, proper architectural designs.

 

“I don’t know,” Frank admits. “He’s never liked it here. But he’s been really different lately.”

 

Dewey looks uncomfortable. “I wasn’t going to mention this-”

 

“Dewey.” 

 

“I’m not even supposed to know. But Jacques thought I was Ernest, so it was an accident. He just...he asked if I was okay. ‘Cause Ernest’s been crying in the bathroom.”

 

Frank’s heart sinks. “Oh. Did he say why?” He feels awful, like he’s failed his brother. For some reason, Ernest doesn’t feel safe to come to his brothers with whatever’s wrong, and now he’s crying in the grotty school bathrooms.

 

Dewey frowns. Frank wants to say it makes him look like their dad, but his image of their dad is growing blurry in his mind and he’s not quite sure what he looked like anymore.  “I couldn’t ask,” he explains. “Obviously. He’d know I wasn’t Ernest.”

 

“Right.” Frank is thinking hard, trying to figure out a way to talk to Ernest and figure out what the hell is wrong with him.

 

“I’m worried, Frank.” Dewey finishes repairing a page and sets the book down gently. “Why doesn’t VFD have any counselling?”

 

Frank shrugs. “I guess they haven’t needed it much before?” Even he knows that sounds like bullshit.

 

“Needed what?” A voice says from behind him, and suddenly Ernest is back, trailing in through the door. “You guys talking without me?”

 

Dewey opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s always been rather awkward.

 

“A counsellor,” Frank says carefully. “For people who aren’t coping.”

 

“Do you need one?” Ernest says, and bizarrely he seems genuinely concerned. “Are you two okay?” Frank is reminded of why he loves his brother so much, despite his hostility to VFD and his distance and his mood swings. Ernest is kind, and gentle, and he loves his brothers just as much as they love him. 

 

“We’re fine,” Frank says, though it strikes him that he hasn’t really checked if Dewey is. He’s avoiding his own anxieties as well. They don’t affect the missions, so he doesn’t need to bother anyone with it. “Are you?”

 

“I’m just perfect,” Ernest replies with a twisted smile. “The world is quiet here.” He spits these words like poison.

 

“‘Ernest,” Dewey starts, and Frank puts his head in his hands and feels the terrible headache he keeps getting start to unfold in the back of his head.

 

Ernest must notice their anxiety, because he sighs and gets onto Frank’s bed, gently removing his hands from the back of his head and squeezing his shoulder. 

 

“You shouldn’t worry so much, Frank. No good for you.”

 

“I have to worry,” Frank insists. “I’m the oldest, and our parents always said I had to look after you.”

 

“It’s not your job,” Ernest tells him. “We’re just kids. And I can look after myself just fine.”

 

“But-”

 

“Hush,” Ernest says firmly, part fond, part clearly trying to avoid the conversation. “Come on. Dewey, over here. Brother hug.”

 

Dewey smiles, and pads over to them. Ernest wraps an arm around him and fluffs at his hair. He reaches out his other arm for Frank, and makes a mock patronising expression.

 

Frank cracks up, and Dewey laughs, putting a hand over his face. 

 

Ernest is the  _ master  _ of cheering them up.

 

\-----

 

He doesn’t worry too much for a bit. Ernest seems to have picked up on his triplet’s concerns, and is doing his best to alleviate them. He’s almost back to normal for a little while, cheeky without being too rude, putting salt in Beatrice’s water when she’s not looking and tying Kit’s shoelaces together over lunch. Kit nearly falls, grabbing Dewey for balance. Dewey’s face is very red all day, and Ernest keeps looking at them and cackling.

 

With all this going on, Frank thinks that the worst might have passed. Ernest had probably just had a fight with someone and been feeling miserable.

 

This is proven alarmingly wrong almost as soon as Frank lets his guard down. He’s in a class with Ernest, practicing tying knots. It’s the only class they don’t share with Dewey, who clearly doesn’t need any help learning rope skills.

 

The class starts normally enough. Frank focuses on his work and doesn’t really talk to anyone other than to tell Kit that Dewey says hello for some reason and to help Jacques with a particularly difficult task.

 

He’s engrossed in his work when he becomes aware of some kind of commotion on the other side of the class. Esme Squalor is leaning side-on in her chair, a perfectly calm but somehow cruel smile on her face. Ernest is in the seat behind her, looking furious. A few of the others sitting nearby are watching with wide eyes and whispering, like they’re waiting for a fight to break out.

 

The man teaching their class leans over his desk and says “Frank or Ernest?”

 

“I’m Ernest,” his brother replies, looking angry.

 

“Of course,” the teacher says dryly. “Ernest, do you need to go outside?”

 

Ernest picks up his bag and his length of rope and leaves without another word. Frank stares at the swinging door and digs his thumbnail into his index finger.

 

“VFD prides itself on kindness, Esme,” says their teacher. “Frank, make sure he’s not destroying anything.”

 

Frank feels a little angry that their only concern is whether Ernest is a liability, not whether he’s okay. He has no idea what Esme did or said, but she can be vicious.

 

There aren’t many places to go in this building and he knows Ernest’s habits, so he heads straight to the bathroom.

 

This assumption is correct, and Ernest is sitting on top of the sinks, tying and untying his rope. His bag is on the floor, which he would normally claim as disgusting, but he clearly doesn’t care right now. 

 

When Frank walks in, he looks up and says “Sorry for making you leave class.”

 

Frank shrugs. “I know how to do that stuff already. Are you okay?”

 

Ernest’s brow creases. “I hate Esme. She’s an awful person.”

 

“VFD are noble.”

 

“You really believe that?” Ernest looks at him with half a crooked smile. “God, this place has messed with you.”

 

“No, it hasn’t,” Frank says, feeling very tired as he comes to sit next to his brother. “You just don’t like it here.”

 

“And I’m not allowed to leave,” Ernest points out. “Does that not seem a little screwed up to you?”

 

“You wouldn’t. Not without me and Dewey.”

 

“True.”

 

“What’s been going on, Ernest?” Frank finally asks. “I’m just worried about you.”

 

Ernest may be identical to his brothers, but he suddenly looks a lot older than them. “It’s complicated. Well, not really, but- I don’t know.”

 

“You can tell me. You can always tell me anything.”

 

Ernest’s eyes are shiny with tears as he looks up at the ceiling. “You reckon this rope’s long enough to be a noose?”

 

“Ernest,” Frank whispers, suddenly feeling very frightened. “Please don’t.” His heart is pounding in his ears, and he feels very hot but also very cold. 

 

“Oh dear,” Ernest says, seeing Frank’s face. “Look, I’m not going to do that, okay? I promise.” The situation has flipped now, and Ernest is trying to comfort him. His brother may be prone to emotional outbursts, but he’ll always put his triplets first.

 

“Have you been hurting yourself?” Frank asks, pushing back the fear rising in his chest.

“No,” Ernest says firmly. “I haven’t done anything like that.”

 

It’s a small rush of relief, but Frank is grateful for it anyway. He gently takes the rope from Ernest’s hands and drops it into the sink, wrapping his brother in a hug.

 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a bad brother,” he tells him. “I didn’t realise it was like this.”

 

“You’re a great brother,” Ernest tells him. “I’m good at secrets. I didn’t want you to know.”

 

“Is this all about VFD?” Frank asks. “Because family comes first, and if it’s this bad for you, then-”

 

“It’s not really. I’m...working on that stuff. I, uh-” Ernest pauses and swallows, and Frank gives him a little nod. “I think I might be gay.”

 

Frank can’t help his astonished reaction. That was not the explanation he had been anticipating. He blinks a few times at Ernest, opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. 

 

“Frank,” Ernest says, looking uncomfortable. “Look, I’m still me.”

 

“I know!” Frank says in a rush, finally finding his words. “Sorry, I was just surprised.” It’s the truth. Being gay isn’t a crime anymore, but he knows that lots of people still see it as wrong or abnormal somehow. He’s never thought that himself, but he realises that he is hopelessly unequipped to deal with this topic. Even the people who are quite accepting of it tend to avoid the topic or whisper about it. It’s a taboo.

 

“I never liked girls much,” Ernest says quietly. “I mean, I like them, but not like that. And everyone’s in love with Beatrice, but I just never thought about her like that. And Dewey adores Kit, but Jacques is far more attractive.”

 

“How long have you been thinking this?” Frank asks, so he can avoid commenting on how attractive their friends are.

 

“A few months,” Ernest admits. “I didn’t really know what to say. No one knows except you. And I’ll tell Dewey later.”

 

“Are you going to tell other people?” 

 

“You’re full of questions,” Ernest rolls his eyes. “A few. Maybe. But it won’t be public knowledge, you know how people are.”

 

“I do,” Frank says, suddenly gripped by the fear that someone will hurt his brother for who he is. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

“I will,” Ernest says, smiling. He pats Frank on the shoulder. “Thank you. For helping me.”

 

“It’s what brothers do,” he answers, picking up Ernest’s bag for him. He takes the rope too, but puts it in his own bag for now, still a little cautious.

 

Ernest wipes at his eyes and nods, then holds the door open for Frank so they can walk back to their room together.

 

(A month later, he and Dewey walk in on Ernest kissing Larry on his bed. He throws a shoe at them whilst Larry shrieks and Dewey crows with laughter. Frank dares to think that this might all work out after all.)

 

\-------------

 

It doesn’t all work out.

 

Things seem good for a long time. Ernest keeps his relationship secret, but Larry seems to mellow him out. He’s still clearly critical of VFD, but he doesn’t argue so much, and he jumps back into his friendship groups easily. 

 

Frank isn’t quite sure how it ends, only that Ernest sulks for a week and Larry is even more of an anxious wreck than he normally is. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t need to exact any brotherly revenge, and he’s not the type for violence anyway, but he hates to see Ernest go downhill again.

 

None of this is helped by their new disguise classes. They’re 17, and whilst everyone else is dressing up as divers or elderly women or taxi drivers, the triplets are being forced to imitate each other perfectly. Dewey is fantastic at this. He’s ambidextrous, so he can replicate Frank’s right-handedness or Ernest’s left-handedness flawlessly, and he has the perfect ambiguous answers to any questions. He doesn’t seem to particularly enjoy it, but VFD are already thinking of ways to manipulate their enemies into believing that they are only twins. Dewey is being scrubbed right out of existence for the sake of smoke and mirrors.

 

It’s the first time Frank has really disliked what VFD is doing. He doesn’t want his brothers pretending to be him, and he doesn’t want to step into their lives either. Their family is being weaponized against other people, and it might be putting them all in danger.

 

Except it turns out that the danger is closer to home.

 

One Saturday, Ernest has an allergic reaction. It’s not life-threatening, but he’s being sick in their toilet and Dewey is stroking his back whilst Frank looks for his inhaler. He’s digging through Ernest’s bedside drawer and finds it rattling around at the back, but a crumpled piece of paper momentarily grabs his attention.

It’s a blueprint of the mountain headquarters they live in. The main office is circled, and Ernest’s neat handwriting has labelled “fax machine”. This can’t possibly be one of the missions they’ve been assigned. Ernest is doing something he’s not supposed to again, but this looks far more serious than his usual disagreements.

 

“Did you find the inhaler?” Dewey calls, and Frank snaps back to reality.

 

“Yeah,” he says, tucking Ernest’s paper into his pocket for later and passing the inhaler to his brother. He feels very sick all of a sudden.

 

Dewey, who is lovely and naive and has no idea what’s going on, smiles at him and turns back to Ernest, helping him a little with the inhaler and speaking in low tones.

 

A few minutes pass. Dewey is the only one talking, and Ernest is sipping at water and nodding along where he needs to. Frank sits on the edge of the bath with his thumbnail pressing into his index finger and thinks that he might have let his parents down. He doesn’t see there being any good explanation for this.

 

When Ernest starts trying to get up to go back out to their friends in the main hall, Frank gently but firmly pushes him back onto the floor.

 

“Frank!” Dewey exclaims, a little incredulous. “What was that for?”

 

“Golden boy finally snapped?” Ernest asks, not unkindly.

 

Frank takes the paper out of his pocket and waves it in front of them. “Why is this in your drawer? And don’t pretend it’s for an assignment.” There are tears prickling at the edge of his vision.

 

“Ernest…” Dewey whispers, taking the paper. “Oh my god.”

 

Ernest stares at them both, his eyes hard and his lip trembling. He looks angry and heartbroken and scared all at once. “Fine,” he snaps. “I was going to send out a false message. To delay some VFD members getting...somewhere. I’m not sure where. They didn’t tell me.”

 

“Why?!” Frank half shouts at him. “Why are you sabotaging missions? Did someone tell you to do this?”

 

“Ernest, this is dangerous,” Dewey says. “They told us about the schism. We can’t risk the fire-starters getting an advantage.”

 

Ernest chuckles, and Frank feels cold set into his bones. “Dewey, I  _ am  _ a fire-starter.”

 

“That’s bullshit!” Dewey says. “You can’t be!”

 

“It makes sense,” Frank whispers. “God, you just hate VFD, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” snaps Ernest. “You know why? They kidnapped us when we were  _ four years old _ , took us from our home whilst we cried, and then it burnt down with our parents inside! They forced us to train for missions. They think people who don’t read are evil, but I was too exhausted and sad to read for months. They’re trying to erase Dewey’s entire identity for the sake of this smoke and mirrors bullshit! They tattooed us against our will. They put us in constant danger. They kill people. You two...you two have been  _ brainwashed  _ into believing this is all noble and for the greater good, but it’s evil! Don’t you wonder why we can’t leave? Why we can’t question anything they make us do? Why we have all these phrases drilled into our brains? It’s fucked up!”

 

“You’re delusional,” Frank cuts him off, his voice shaking so much he can barely make the words come out. “VFD are good people and the side you’ve aligned yourself with are evil.” He can’t bring himself to call Ernest evil. He is furious, completely furious, but he can’t believe that Ernest is evil.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dewey asks, and Frank sees his expression of betrayal and anger, but also the tiniest tug of doubt at the corner of his lip. He’s seeing something in Ernest’s words, and Frank can’t lose his other brother to this. “Ern, you don’t have to do this.”

 

“Because I knew you’d react like this,” Ernest says flatly. “I didn’t want you to be angry.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t be working with our enemies!’ Frank explodes. “For fuck’s sake, Ernest!”

 

“VFD is not my priority,” Ernest fires back. “You two are. I’m keeping us safe.”

 

“How?” Dewey whispers.

 

“Fire-starters want to hurt fire-fighters. But they won’t target you two if they think there’s a chance you’re me. They can’t risk friendly fire. And fire-fighters won’t hurt me in case I’m one of you. Besides, we can protect each other. Trade information, make sure we’re never in danger.”

 

“So you’re like a double agent?” Dewey looks very hopeful for a moment.

 

Ernest smiles ruefully. “Not quite. I still hate VFD. I still agree with the fire-starters.”

 

Dewey’s face sinks. Frank rests a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I swear I will never betray you two. And I don’t want to kill anyone. I just...can’t align myself with VFD anymore.”

“We’ll report you,” Frank says desperately. “To our superiors.”

 

“They’ll kill me,” Ernest says calmly. “You know they can’t afford to let a traitor live. Not even a teenage one.”

 

Frank is silent. He knows Ernest is telling the truth. Whatever VFD do, they won’t let his brother stay with them if this gets out. He swore years ago that it would always be family first. Denouements over VFD. He is so angry, but Ernest is his brother, and he can’t let them take him away. Besides, he isn’t evil, but if he is kicked out and falls into the hands of the wrong people, he could be manipulated into terrible things. He needs to stay here, where Frank can look after him.

 

“You have to tell me and Dewey everything you’re doing,” Frank states. “Or at least everything important. If there are lives on the line, or if we could get dragged into it in any way, I need you to tell us.”

 

Ernest considers for a moment, tilting his head. “Okay,” he says eventually. “I’ll tell you everything.”

 

“I wish you hadn’t done this,” Dewey tells him. “I wish you’d said something.”

 

“It was a terrible idea,” Frank says coldly. He may not be turning Ernest in, but there’s a clear fracture in their relationship now. “Are you going to do this?” He holds up the plan that started all this.

 

“I am,” Ernest says, and there’s a flicker of pain across his face. “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal. No one will get hurt, it’ll just delay arrivals.”

 

“Okay,” Frank replies stiffly, knowing he can’t sabotage it without exposing him.

 

No one moves or says anything else. They just sit there on the floor of the bathroom, Ernest tapping his fingers on the tile, Dewey biting his lip, and Frank wondering how their lives have gone so very wrong.

 

\-----------------

 

They open the hotel in their 20s. Frank isn’t quite sure the point it had gone beyond a comforting artifact of their lost childhood and become a dream for the future, but as he stands in their bare but complete lobby, he feels happier than he has in years.

 

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” says Ernest, smiling. “All from Frank’s baby drawings!”

 

Frank smiles back at him wordlessly.

Their relationship has never quite returned to what it used to be. They still love each other, or Frank wouldn’t open a damn hotel with him, but he doesn’t trust him as much these days. They bicker constantly, though there’s at least some genuine affection behind it. 

 

Poor Dewey is caught in the middle. He harbours some bitterness towards VFD and doesn’t seem to trust in it all that much, but he still relies on their methods and he would never join the fire-starters.

 

“Hey,” Dewey says, hurrying up behind them. “Frog lamp!” He places it happily on their desk in the lobby. Frank’s still not entirely certain where the frog lamp came from, but Dewey is deeply fond of it, so it tends to take pride of place wherever they go.

 

“I’m not certain that matches the decor, Dew,” Frank says. “You could put it in your room.”

 

“Frank!” Ernest looks mock offended, and his tone is teasing. “You can’t exile the frog lamp! Decor be damned.”

 

“You’re awful,” Frank tells him, although he smiles.

 

“We don’t actually have any guests yet,” Dewey points out.

 

“Frank is no fun,” Ernest shoots back. “That frog lamp is far too whimsical.”

 

“Kit gave it to me,” Dewey says. “Last time we saw each other.” 

 

Ernest gives him a sympathetic look and Frank pats him on the back. Relationships aren’t easy for any of them right now. Dewey and Kit barely see each other because they’re so busy with missions and the hotel. Ernest has occasional weird hookups (one of which involved someone with actual hooks), but as a fire-starter who’s not really dedicated to fire-starting and also as a gay man, he has very few opportunities for any kind of real relationship. Frank himself does not date. He likes to sit and do his work without distractions, and he has yet to meet a woman (or a man, he supposes, if he maybe did some soul-searching) who he is worth the fear and vulnerability of properly reaching out.

 

For the time being, he lets the frog lamp stay. It makes Dewey happy, and with Kit gone and Ernest constantly in the crosshairs, he needs the little comforts.

 

\-------------

 

Many years pass with very little by way of drama. Guests check in, then check out. Frank and Ernest pretend to be twins, Dewey hides in the shadows. VFD members refer to Ernest as the evil one, and Frank digs his nail into his finger until it bleeds whilst Ernest laughs humorlessly along and never states which brother he is.

 

The hotel is safe, at least. If there’s one thing to be said for Ernest’s betrayal, it’s that the hotel is officially neutral and as a result, no one has touched it, even with all the other safe places burning down. Frank is deeply anxious about the idea of losing his hotel, the last little tie to his childhood, and even more anxious that it could take his brothers with it.

 

They’re all the family he has. Until, of course, they’re not.

 

It’s ridiculously early in the morning when he and Ernest are in the lobby arguing about something stupid to do with paperwork when Dewey practically skids into the room, eyes bright. Ernest raises an eyebrow at him, smiling.

 

“Dewey,” Frank frowns. “What if someone sees you?”

 

“No one’s up,” Dewey shrugs. “I have some news.” He’s vibrating with excitement.

 

“What’s your news?” Frank asks, deciding to let the twin ruse slip for a few moments.

 

“Kit’s pregnant!” Dewey blurts out, and Ernest’s mouth drops open almost comically. “I’m going to be a father!”

 

Frank beams at him, feeling a new warmth and happiness. “I’m so happy for you,” he says, and wraps Dewey in a hug. “You deserve good things.”

 

Ernest joins, wrapping them both in a big hug. “I’m gonna be that baby’s favourite uncle,” he declares. “I’m gonna buy it so much cool stuff.”

 

“I can’t believe it,” Frank declares. “You? A dad?”

 

Dewey grins and nods. 

 

There’s the sound of a door opening upstairs and Dewey sighs deeply, some of the joy dampening a little, and slips away into the shadows. No one can see the three of them at the same time.

 

Ernest watches Dewey disappear, and Frank turns back to him. “Ernest. You can’t let your associates hurt Kit.”

 

“I know,” Ernest says. “I’ve begged them not to before.” His face is drawn and tired. “But they can’t work out that I don’t care that much about their goals.”

 

“That’s Dewey’s child, Ernest,” Frank says firmly. “You can’t let anything happen.”

 

“I won’t. I don’t think Olaf wants her hurt anyway. They have...history.”

 

“I’d forgotten about that.”

 

Ernest shrugs. He looks downcast. Frank can tell he’s worrying about the baby now. He may still work for the fire-starters, but there doesn’t seem to be much genuine enthusiasm there these days. He just hates VFD more.

 

It strikes him that they’re all a little stuck with this.

 

\------------

 

Frank finds his brother in the lobby many months later, sorting through paperwork he clearly intends to leave for him to do. 

 

“Ernest,” he says.

 

“Dewey,” his brother corrects, and Frank rolls his eyes.

 

“You’re Ernest.”

 

“Fine,” Ernest says, laughing. “Yes, I am. What do you need?”

 

Frank doesn’t laugh.

 

“We have a large amount of guests checking in before Thursday,” Frank says. “You know why.”

 

Ernest simply nods. “Old friends?”

 

“Most of them are your enemies,” Frank points out. “But yes, familiar faces.”

 

Ernest nods again. Frank thinks it’s quite hard for him when people they know stop by. When their old friends had found out about Ernest’s treachery, most stepped straight into blindly hating him. They didn’t have the brother link, so it’s fair enough.

 

“Larry’s going to do some work in 954,” Frank continues. He’d been told not to share this, but he often slips Ernest information he’s not supposed to have, and he is quite sure his brother would never hurt Larry. 

 

“Larry Your-Waiter? Hmm.” Ernest raises an eyebrow, then goes back to filing.

 

“Please don’t sleep with him or kill him.”

“Yep,” Ernest says flatly, dumping the paper back on the desk. “I will leave him and his Indian food in peace.”

 

A bell rings, and Ernest hurries away to deal with it, leaving Frank to wonder if this is too much strain for their hotel.

 

\----------------

 

Frank is already worrying before Poe rings the bell to summon them in the lobby. Dewey has gone silent, which isn’t unusual, but with so many villainous people that aren’t Ernest in their hotel, is causing some anxiety. Ernest is being frankly bizarre. His head shoots up every time the elevator door opens, and he’s been drumming his fingers anxiously across the desk for hours. Frank is too afraid to ask what he’s done or is going to do.

 

When Poe rings, he’s briefly thankful for the distraction. The banker certainly wants something stupid and miscellaneous that he won’t have to worry about.

 

“Can we help you?” Frank asks, smiling politely as Poe’s face twists into a frown.

 

“That can’t be right…” Poe mutters, staring at him.

 

“Sir?”

 

“I came to get the manager…” Poe says slowly, like he’s trying to figure something out. “Because the other manager was just shot.” His eyes flicker over to Ernest, who is utterly frozen.

 

“Shot?” Frank stutters out, not even caring that their cover is blown. “Where is he?” Dewey has to be alive. It must be a minor injury, and he’s asked Poe for his brother’s comfort.

 

“He fell into the pond outside,” Poe whispers, looking a little scandalised. “The Baudelaire orphans shot him right through the chest!”

 

Frank barely registers this last part. He’s on his feet, following Poe through the lobby. The banker is still babbling that this can’t be right, and he can’t take it anymore, can’t listen to that voice, so he just mumbles something about how it can and stumbles outside.

 

The water of the pond is gently rippling, and he can see tendrils of red curling in it. He drops to his knees, desperately searching the water. It feels like hours, though it can only have been seconds, before he feels fabric. Dewey is caught on something.

 

With frantic, shaking hands, he unhooks it and pulls Dewey from the pond. His little brother is soaked in water and blood, the spear sticking straight out of the centre of his chest.

“Dewey,” Frank whispers. “Come on, Dew.” He checks for a pulse, then checks again in case he just missed it. He is a practical person who does not lose himself in fantasies, but in this moment, he cannot accept that Dewey is gone. 

 

He doesn’t know what to do.

 

He doesn’t cry. He hasn’t cried for years. He wishes he could, wishes he could sob it all out right here on the ground outside his hotel, but his whole body just feels numb. Dewey, the kindest person he’s ever known. Dewey who loves tea, and frogs, and Kit Snicket, and his brothers. Dewey who knew exactly how to calm him down when the darkness set in. 

 

Dewey who is dead on the ground in front of him with blood soaking through his shirt and his mouth slightly open in a little expression of surprise.

 

Frank gently shuts his mouth and pulls his suit slightly over his chest to cover some of the blood. He doesn’t remove the spear.

 

“I’m so sorry, brother,” he whispers.

 

A part of him knows that the Baudelaires can’t have just shot Dewey in the chest out of malice, but hatred is running through his veins. They’ve taken away his little brother. Done something even worse than betraying VFD.

 

And he had put that harpoon gun right in Violet’s hands.

 

The guilt nearly causes him to pass out, but there’s chaos in the lobby, and he knows he needs to attend to it. Who knows what Ernest is saying.

 

Inside, Ernest is standing in front of the crowds, his face utterly lost. His mouth is clamped shut and his lips are trembling.

 

“Ern,” Frank chokes out, like it’s the only word he knows. Ernest won’t need anymore to know that Dewey is gone.

 

“Yeah,” Ernest says quietly. “I, uh, arrested Olaf. He’s locked in 170.”

 

“He’s your associate.”

 

Ernest’s eyes are hard. “And Dewey is my  _ brother. _ ” He still refers to him in the present tense. Frank doesn’t correct him.

 

They stand there, a united front for once, no more lies about who they are. He is Frank, and that is Ernest. They are triplets, not twins.

He doesn’t know where they go from here.

 

\---------------

 

Their hotel is burning down, and Ernest is holding his hand. Frank can’t see anything through his blindfold, but he can smell the smoke.

 

“We have to apprehend the Baudelaires,” he calls to his brother.

 

“We have to apprehend Olaf,” Ernest responds. He has turned on his associates fast with Dewey gone. He really had been telling the truth when he had told them in that bathroom all those years ago that it was Denouements first, that he wanted to protect them. Frank understands. He’s furious at his own side. Their failures, their obsessions with secrecy and proper conduct, are just as responsible for Dewey’s death as the villains in their hotel.

 

“I want to save the hotel,” Frank admits.

 

“I’m not sure we can,” Ernest says. “Smell the smoke.”

 

He’s right, of course. Frank can tell that their hotel is already beyond saving. Their lovely hotel that has been in Frank’s head for so many years. The real world was too dangerous for it.

 

Before he can respond, there’s a creaking noise and a shout and Ernest’s hand is ripped away from his.

 

“No!” Frank screams. “Ernest!” He takes a few stumbling steps back. Ernest must have fallen through the floor. “Can you hear me?”

 

There’s no response. His throat is burning and it’s very very hot and he is not leaving without his brother. There is no way he’s losing both his brothers to this awful power play between two sides of a schism that aren’t even all that different.

 

Frank is about to rip off his blindfold, go looking for Ernest himself, when someone’s arms wrap around him and start dragging him backwards. He screams and kicks and swears, but they don’t let go until suddenly he feels cold air on his face and the smell of smoke is a little further away.

 

He’s outside.

 

The person gently removes Frank’s blindfold and he sees Justice Strauss staring at him with huge eyes.

 

“Oh my,” she says. “I’m so sorry, sir. What terrible luck you’ve had.”

“I need my brother,” he tells her. “Did you see him?”

 

“The floor collapsed,” she says. “I couldn’t see him. But I had to get you out before you fell too.”

 

“No,” Frank chokes. “No, I need him. Someone has to go and find him.”

 

“The fire department are here,” she tells him, her voice gentle. “They’ll do everything they can.”

 

“I’m Ernest,” Frank says desperately, though he never lies like this. “The one working with Olaf. You have to get Frank out, he’s on your side!” He is terrified that if they think Ernest is the one trapped in there, they won’t bother to look for him.

 

She looks like she doesn’t quite believe him. “I’ll tell them a noble firefighter is still in there,” she says eventually, and leaves Frank sitting by the pond his brother died in, staring at the burning hotel that his other brother might die in.

 

Justice Strauss is talking to a man who looks very familiar. For a strange, fleeting moment, Frank thinks it’s Jacques Snicket. But Jacques is dead. When the man turns his head, he realises that it’s his younger brother Lemony, who Frank vaguely remembers following Beatrice around.

 

He would quite like to talk to him, but Ernest is still unaccounted for.

 

Finally, he sees something. A burly looking fireman carrying a tall, skinny figure from the building. Even with his blurry vision and through the smoke and flashing lights, Frank recognises the long limbs as exactly like his own.

 

He manages to get to his feet and scramble over, meeting them in the middle of the patio and half snatching his brother from this other man. Ernest stirs a little, moaning in pain as Frank lowers him to the ground. The fireman must recognise their resemblance, because he simply tells Frank that his brother shouldn’t need urgent care, then walks away.

 

“Hey,” Frank says, shuffling so Ernest can lean against his leg. “Are you okay?”

 

Ernest pulls his blindfold off. “Just bruised, I think. My leg was stuck.”

 

“You’re okay now,” Frank tells him. “We’re okay.”

 

“Dewey’s dead, Frank. We’re not okay! What the hell do we tell Kit?”

 

“We’ll figure that out.”

 

“It looks like quite a few people got out,” Ernest comments, staring at the crowds. “But not everyone.” His eyes are red.

 

“Larry?” Frank asks. “Did you see him at all?”

 

Ernest bows his head. “I’m...he might have. The fire wasn’t a concern.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Olaf made me do it,” Ernest says, and Frank feels his heart sink. “But I didn’t do it properly. We tied Larry up, and dropped him into the curry.”

 

“Oh my god,” Frank says. He wants to be angry, but there’s so much going on in his head that he’s not sure how to express it.

 

“But I tied the knot wrong!” Ernest explains desperately. “Deliberately, I mean. I couldn’t tell him in front of Olaf, but If he realised, he could have just pulled it and climbed straight out. Maybe he escaped, and left the hotel yesterday!”

 

“Maybe,” Frank says, though he doesn’t think it’s likely. Larry would have been panicking. He might not have noticed a trick knot. He hopes he did, but he’s not going to bank on it. “He probably won’t contact us if he did. I don’t think he’ll want to talk.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ernest whispers. “For everything. I was just so angry. They took us away, and brainwashed you, and put us in danger.”

 

“I think you were right,” Frank replies, looking up at their burning hotel. “VFD doesn’t have good guys.”

 

“You’re good, Frank. You just got stuck.”

 

“So did you.”

 

And Ernest nods and leans into him. They are not a whole anymore, just two out of three triplets who have all done terrible things and suffered the consequences. At least, if nothing else, a rift has slowly started to heal.

 

\-----------------

 

They stay in the hotel business. For a while, they experience it as guests, bouncing from place to place to stay. Nowhere is as lovely as the Hotel Denouement, but Frank thinks that they don’t want it to be.

 

Their new hotel doesn’t bear their names. They don’t want it to. It wouldn’t be the Hotel Denouement without Dewey. Frank barely remembers the hotel name sometimes, because it’s not really important to him anymore. He and Ernest play up their identical faces for a laugh rather than for their safety, because neither of them stay with VFD in any capacity. People ask if they’re twins, and they always answer that they’re triplets.

 

As Frank predicted, Larry never reaches out. They never find a body, but searches for his name bring up no new results.

 

(Frank hears through the grapevine that there’s a man with burn scars living with the Duchess of Winnipeg, but he never digs any further.)

Kit never contacts them either. They hope she’s safe, but it doesn’t seem terribly likely. 

 

It’s mid-afternoon when they’re clearing up the dining room after lunch is over, and Ernest is complaining loudly about messy eaters, as a girl walks in.

 

She can’t be older than ten, and she wears a red beret over straight brown hair. She looks strikingly familiar, but Frank can’t quite place her.

 

“Hi,” she says.

 

“Lunch is over,” Frank tells her briskly. “There are other restaurants nearby, or you can get snacks at the bar.”

 

“I’m not here for lunch,” the girl says. “Though it does look delicious.”

 

Ernest grins. “Thank you. What are you here for?”

 

“I wanted to meet you,” she says. “You’re Frank and Ernest Denouement.”

 

Frank narrows his eyes at her. “Who are you?”

 

She steps forward and holds her hand out for him to shake. “I’m your niece. Beatrice.”

 

Frank hears Ernest gasp. He’s stunned himself, but as he studies her face, he sees it. Kit’s eyes are probably the first thing most people would notice, but her smile is all Dewey’s. They have the same nose as well. 

 

His niece is right here in front of him, alive and well. She looks a little nervous, but there’s a steely confidence about her too.

 

He does his best to recover quickly. “Hi, Beatrice,” he says. “I’m Frank.” He shakes her hand, and it feels oddly formal.

 

“I’m Ernest,” his brother says, approaching nervously. “I hope your mother didn’t say too many bad things about me.”

 

“My mother died right after I was born,” Beatrice says, and Frank’s heart breaks a little. Another loss. “I was raised by the Baudelaires.”

 

“They’re alive?” Frank asks.

 

“Yes,” Beatrice smiles. “They haven’t said much about you. But Sunny said there were very noble people starting fires, and very evil people putting them out. Like Fernald!”

 

“Sunny is right,” Ernest says faintly, and Frank tries to picture the little toddler as a teenager.

 

Beatrice glances around the lobby. “There’s no big clock,” she says eventually. “Klaus told me about a big clock.”

 

“Your dad always wound that,” Frank says, and the words are strange but so comforting to say. “We didn’t want to have one without him.”

 

“Oh,” Beatrice says. “Could you- could you tell me about him? My guardians never really knew him.”

 

“Of course,” Ernest says. “Do you want a drink?”

 

“I like root beer floats,” Beatrice says, and Frank laughs. Of course she would.

 

He brings out three root beer floats, and they sit down at the table by the window. “Your dad,” Ernest starts like he’s going to say something very serious and noble. “He gave the best hugs in the world.”

 

“He did,” Frank nods along. “And he made delicious tea.”

 

“He always put too much sugar in,” Ernest argues, winking at Beatrice, who laughs.

 

“Violet says I put too much sugar in my tea,” she says.

 

“You get that from him.”

 

Frank takes a sip of his drink and laughs at them, feeling the weight of the last decade start to lift a little. She is so very like her father. He’s quite certain everyone else will be seeing Kit in her, but the complicated knot of her shoelaces and the way she chews her lip and the gentle way she handles the pages of the books they show her are all echoes of Dewey.

 

He takes a piece of blank paper from his bag. It’s the same as his mother’s sketchbook, a fancy piece of card just like the one he first drew their old hotel on.

 

“Beatrice,” he says, and she looks up with Dewey’s curious eyes. “Do you want to help us design a clock?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually read this whole thing, thank you! I'm a big fan of the books and the show, and the Denouements are too interesting to not write fic for, though I originally thought this was gonna be 2k max. I was Wrong. I thought the show made VFD seem far too unambiguously cool for an organisation that kidnaps little children and tattoos them, so this fic was born. It's a mix of book canon and show canon, along with a few little headcanons and fix-its.
> 
> I'm on tumblr @deweysdenouement, so come say hello! Or bully me for this fic, whatever.


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